


Requiem Of A Broken Soul

by ItalianPotatoMoustache



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Confessions, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Letters, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 13:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItalianPotatoMoustache/pseuds/ItalianPotatoMoustache
Summary: A single piece of parchment has been left behind, left behind to be read by none. The words baring a soul's embittered confession, a desperate soul's confession, the words that will never be noticed as the paper is left to wither and be bleached by the sun until they are no more; until they disappear just like their author.





	Requiem Of A Broken Soul

The smell of the previous night’s rainfall still hung heavily in the air, stinging the nostrils of those unlucky beings who were graced with it’s thick, earthy stench. Dew and raindrops, indistinguishable between the two, cling desperately to the blades of grass that slouched towards the mud in response to the weight of the water upon their backs. The air was humid, uncomfortably warm to the touch, but rather chilly by nature, creating an unpleasant atmosphere for those who venture out into its suffocating embrace. 

The only relief is provided through the passing of a brief, all too quick breeze that rips through the streets in between rushing citizens as they fuel the gust with their hasty passing. It refused to cease its run until it came upon a field, a field that blended into a garden drinking in the remnants of the night’s downpour, unable to understand how the gift of over indulgence will bring the gardens downfall once they finish their drink.

The breeze twists and snakes its way throughout the maze of the garden, rustling bushes and providing life to each flower and leaf, making their vivid colors shine in the light of the early morning. A time when it was much too late to be waking up, yet much too early to truly start the day. The grass danced as the breeze passed over it, taking its time now that it was out of the rush of the city. Passed the lively garden, the presence of the breeze left behind a soft rustle in remembrance of its passing as it approached a manor. The building stood tall, casting a shadow in front of the building as the sun rose behind it leisure. The breeze entered the manor seamlessly, not a creek or groan of wood to be heard as the rooms were entered. The only items to be disturbed were the drapes and the dust that lightly coated every surface in response to the lack of the daily dusting.

If it weren’t for the dust, anyone who did not know the residents of this manor would believe the owner was merely out of town or his servants yet to wake, leaving the truth of the nights events to those who were there to witness it. Only those who knew the truth would know this manor would never see life again outside of the plants and creatures who will soon overtake the rooms, disregarding the elegance and beauty in turn for nature to retake what was originally it’s own.

The breeze finally died down as it approached the final room, the office standing so boldly towards the center of the upper floor with all its charm. It was much too professional to accurately portray the utter character and emotion that it’s previous inhabitant held. The only trace left of the child who brought so much life into the manor was a letter, hastily written in shaky penmanship and crinkled with dots of dried tears. Only the breeze would bear witness to the ink that lined the page, just a single page, as no one else would remember nor care to seek out the words of an embittered, broken soul’s requiem. 

 

 

To whom it may concern, and to that of my precious blue eyed ignorance, 

You were born to be a king, a position you have proved yourself in. You hold it to your highest regard and maintain it with the utmost elegance that only those truly gifted can manage. You were born to be a king, and you live to continue holding that title in your small but unforgiving grasp. I, too, wished to be a queen, but in this land of black and white I see only to be a queen, my sole purpose to be sacrificed and stolen, but never truly holding any value. It is with my deepest regard, however, that I must dethrone you my noble, worthy, powerful, king. It is for the reason of punishing your knight who hath disgraced you so by slyly betraying your person that I must place you on my own chessboard and make you a pawn, lower you down to the position of the many you knew on your own checkerboard. The sad truth is, for even on my own board I am not even king, nor am I even queen. I am a pawn like you, our worth measured in our ability to aid the kings victory. 

My king is a deceitful being, and with the help of an overthrown king, I hope to watch this world burn with all of its lies, for its waxed mahogany wood to crack and squeal as it turns to ash and flutter away. I wish for you to break the rules that you so idly dance upon like the line of morality as we watch my world burn. And amongst the ash and soot may you finally see, not just the truth about your cherished demon, but maybe even a friend in me. May you see what my tortured souls eyes have seen all along and what yours have stayed ignorant to. May you see with you contracted eye, that across the playing field on your half of the board, you yourself are not even king and never were. Your loyal knight was just a clever ruse, a king beneath his mask who planned to toy with you and discard you, for you may think you have many pawns, but to him, you are just one out of a sea of many. 

I beg of you dear pawn, heed my words, it would be a shame to watch such a beautifully polished board like yours burn at the cost of your refusal and false hurried beliefs. I beg of you, as an unrealized friend, do not make my mistakes. I beg of you, do not become just another pawn to sacrifice. Your fight will not be for nothing, got even if you fall you will have learned, and that is the spark needed for the rest of us discarded pawns to burn with our fantasies, and from our ashes may you compress the lenses for which you need to see clearly the underlying truth. From our ashes, may you succeed. 

Yours truly,   
An all too late, wise soul.


End file.
